


I Get A Little Warm In My Heart

by auroreanrave



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cosiness, F/M, Ficlet, Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Winter, hygge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-24 01:53:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8351692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auroreanrave/pseuds/auroreanrave
Summary: Viktor and Hermione and a snapshot of their life after the Battle of Hogwarts.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys. This is literally just some wintry fluff about the life Viktor and Hermione might have led after the Battle of Hogwarts, and also tied into the Danish concept of 'hygge' which translated to a sort of cosiness and companionship which is my entire life right now. Plus Krumione is my life-long OTP. Hope you enjoy.
> 
> The title comes from 'Winter' by Tori Amos.

When the War is over, Hermione moves north, and Viktor makes sure to follow.

She ends up in Denmark, and she finds them a place in Maribo. In the wizarding world, she has enough respect and enough support, as a best friend of the Boy Who Conquered, that she secures a comfortable apartment in the city for them.

Viktor uses his own funds to buy a cabin out on Bornholm, a bolthole of a holiday home that costs a pittance. He grows his hair out and lets his beard bloom from his chin, thick and wild and as dark as dusk, until he's tying his hair back in a bun at the back of his head when he works out, and looks right at home amongst the most bearded Danes.

They both get jobs - Viktor finds part-time work as a Quidditch coach for the local teams, while Hermione works in the Danish Magical Ministry, Flooing into Copenhagen every morning after breakfast. She oversees everything, from the relocation of selkies from the Isle of Skye to the Danish islands, to helping run student-led seminars at local magical colleges about magical responsibility and future. Viktor spends two afternoons a week reading to children in a local library, as a way to practise his Danish (which is good) and his English (which is better).

If their celebrity is still evident, it doesn't follow them. They get occasional looks when they got out for drinks or to hear some jazz, but it's more the sight of them; him, tall and hulking, and she, shorter by several heads with hair that corkscrews out regardless of the weather. They're quite a pair.

"I just want to help, Viktor," Hermione tells him one night. They're on the front porch of their home, waiting for a snow flurry, Viktor leaning against one of the beams while Hermione curls up in a chair. He's drinking beer, she's drinking tea. "I just - I know it sounds daft, but... I don't feel like I've done enough. Harry... he died. The most I've done is help is admin."

"You should not haff to," Viktor says. His English is better than it was years ago, back when he was surly and awkward in his long limbs, pining for a girl so secure in her own mind that he spent a good month trying to work up courage to ask her out on a date. "You are not required to put yourself out there. You haff sacrificed, vorked hard. You should do good, yes. But you should live too."

"It just feels bloody selfish," Hermione admits.

"Is not," says Viktor. "You haff right to build life of enjoyment for yourself."

Hermione sinks back in her chair and sips at her camomile. He drains his beer and comes to sit on the floor beside her, her hand carding through his hair and scratching at his scalp in a way that reminds him of Crookshanks, who is curled up in front of the fireplace. It's intensely soothing.

"You promise you won't... think less of me?" Hermione's voice is small and unsure. "I'm still going to do good, Viktor; I can't see any future where I don't go do that. I just... I'm so tired. I spent so long just focused all the time, like a bowstring being pulled back and back. I don't want to snap."

"So rest," Viktor murmurs, his eyes flickering up to meet hers. "I vill alvays hold you in highest regard." He takes her hand and kisses the knuckles until she giggles.

That night, he waits for her in bed, in the home they've made for themselves. The fires are banked for the night, Crookshanks is snoring quietly on the rug, and Viktor is immensely happy.

Hermione emerges from the bathroom in her underwear, and she looks worn out and lighter and happier. "I love you," Viktor says. Hermione smiles and says, "Obicham te."

Outside, the promised snow picks up and patters against the windows. Hermione curls up against Viktor's chest. He holds her. This beautiful, incredible girl who will make the world better with her every step, and who needs to let go. He gets to keep her, for as long as she'll have him.

They sink into the pile of warm blankets and pillows. Viktor turns out the light and settles, a sweet comma against Hermione's back. He whispers, " _Vŭzlyuben_ ", and drifts off, the winter storm raging outside, and warmth, very snugly, in his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> "Vŭzlyuben" = 'beloved' in Bulgarian.


End file.
